


Plots and Pies

by neymovirne



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19138708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neymovirne/pseuds/neymovirne
Summary: Sansa’s bakery is in the state of perpetual war with Cersei Lannister’s coffee shop, Lion’s Share, and both sides are prepared to win by whatever means necessary. That is, until one day they are faced with a common enemy – NightKing’s coffee shop chain is coming to King’s Landing. Will they be able to put their differences aside and team up against the greater threat?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for this fandom, so I'm kind of nervous, but this plot bunny took a hold of me and just wouldn't let go. Hope you'll enjoy it!

“Welcome to _Hot Pie_.” Sansa’s didn’t even attempt to smile at the customer.

“Sansa, dearest, a cappuccino with you most delicious hot apple pie, please,” a middle-aged man with graying hair practically cooed.

“It’s not hot anymore,” Sansa said in a clipped tone before turning to the coffee machine with a long-suffering sigh.

The man wasn’t in a rush to go away, sitting down at one of the four tables in the bakery and sending Sansa with a sleazy smile.

“I can’t believe he’s still doing this,” Sansa muttered under her breath. “He used to date mom, for Gods’ sake! What she saw in him, I’ll never know.”

“Total slimeball. I’ll kick his ass for you,” Arya offered.

“Oh please. You’re two months into your karate class.” Sansa huffed.

“Taekwondo.”

“Whatever.”

Sansa pointedly didn’t look at the man’s direction, rearranging baguettes on the shelf.

“Why did we call this place _Hot Pie_ again?”

“We serve pies.”

“We serve other things too. How can we compete with _Lion’s Share_ with a name like that? _Lion’s Share_ , not _Cersei Lannister’s Overpriced Coffee and Stale Muffins_!

Arya only rolled her eyes. She had heard the variations of this speech many times before.

“And look! The spy is here again!” Sansa shot a dark look at a handsome man in the corner nursing a cup of coffee. “Jaime. Lannister,” she spat. “He’s been here for hours!”

“Thirty minutes, more likely. And you know he’s waiting for Brienne.”

“A likely story! Besides, you know what they say about him and his sister.”

A tall blonde woman in a police uniform entered the bakery and Jaime sat up straighter, looking up from his phone. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t spare him a glance.

“See?”

“It’s all an elaborate ruse to get close to us and learn our secrets.” Sansa lifted her chin.

“What secrets? Hi, Brienne.”

“Hello, girls! Business going well? Anybody giving you trouble?” She raised her voice and looked straight at Littlefinger who was still staring at Sansa from his seat, making him gobble up the last piece of his pie and scamper off hurriedly. He was involved in a number of shady businesses and nothing could make him disappear faster than the sight of law enforcement.

After getting her usual meat pie, Brienne didn’t stay for long, and Jaime left soon after.

“Hopeless case. He’s been here every other day like clockwork, and she hasn’t noticed him once,” Arya said, following Jaime with her eyes. Even his back somehow looked dejected.

Sansa got that calculating look in her eyes that usually didn’t mean anything good for people around her.

“Maybe we should clue Brienne in bit. She could do a little spying of her own, so we’ll know for sure about his true intentions.”

“Brienne? Spying?” Arya snorted.

“We’ll explain that it’s for an honorable cause.”

“Well, at least it might remedy the sorry state of her love life.”

“Love life is overrated.”

Sansa’s first love – incidentally, Cersei’s eldest son – ended up in tears and a mess that cost her father his job, and the less said about her other ex Ramsay, the better. Having decided that flaky puff pastry, unlike romance, had never failed to make her feel better, Sansa opened a bakery at King’s Landing, thus unknowingly entering the state of open warfare with Cersei Lannister herself who had a coffee shop just down the street.

Having recently also opened _The Iron Throne_ , a night club built in place of former Sparrow’s Nest B&B that had burned down under highly suspicious circumstances, Cersei ruled the local Business Owners Council and the whole district with dirty tricks, intrigues and backstabbing, and she saw _Hot Pie_ as direct competition. That meant constant anonymous complaints to the Public Health Service, trying to blackmail the landlord into raising the rent, and two long weeks of advertising mascots in lion costumes intercepting customers at the doors of the bakery.

Another, lesser soul would have given up long ago, but all this did for Sansa was making her toughen up and learn to fight equally dirty. Making Cersei’s website go under for a whole month with a little help from her little brother was particularly inspired. She didn’t even tease him for calling himself 3eYed_RaVeN afterwards. Much.

All in all, the lines were drawn long ago, so Sansa was extremely surprised to see Cersei coming over to the bakery just as she was closing for the evening.

“Not too fast,” Cersei drawled, putting her hand over Sansa’s fingers on the door handle. Sansa shuddered. Where was Arya with her martial arts when she needed her? Oh right, running off early who knows where to meet some mysterious boy. She was seeing no one, right. And Cersei would give away all her money to the poor out of the goodness of her heart any day now.

“What.”

“There’s important business we need to discuss.” Cersei’s smile was full of teeth.

Sansa distractedly thought that Cersei’s pixie cut shouldn’t work as well as it did, even though she kind of missed Cersei’s long hair, always so perfectly arranged. Well, not missed exactly. But even Sansa had to admit that the bitch had style.

Reluctantly, Sansa opened the door again and motioned Cersei inside. Cersei looked around with distaste and dragged a chair from the table into the middle of the bakery before lounging on it as if she owned the place.

Refusing to be intimidated, Sansa hopped on the counter, securing the higher ground.

“Tsk, what awful manners. I see that hasn’t changed since you broke my poor baby’s heart.”

The poor baby didn’t have a heart, and Sansa was pretty sure even Cersei knew it.

“Do you actually have a reason for being here or have you just come to annoy me?” Sansa could beat everybody except Bran at the family poker night nowadays, but something about Cersei made her lose her cool completely.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I even came in peace, believe it or not.”

Sansa eyed her dubiously.

“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye…”

“You have a knack for understatement,” Sansa muttered.

“As I was saying,” Cersei said forcefully. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye, but it’s time to forget our petty differences and unite our forces, for we have a common enemy now.”

“A common enemy?”

Cersei’s expression turned thunderous. “ _NightKing’s_ is coming to King’s Landing.” _NightKing’s_ was a global coffee shop chain that forced many small cafes all over Westeros and Essos out of business. “According to my sources, they are looking to buy out that tattoo place.” This was bad news for _Hot Pie_ , and for _Lion’s Share_ , the blow would be even harsher.

Jon had already told Sansa that _Hardhome_ was closing down, of course, but hadn’t mentioned anything about the new owners. So much for family loyalty. Although it was entirely possible that he just didn’t know. After all, obliviousness was his usual state, as his ex used to say.

“Why are they closing down, by the way? I thought things were going great? Attracting all kinds of… wild people to our respectable street.” Cersei pursed her lips. She made no secret of her dislike of the tattoo and piercing shop and people who worked there.

“Mance, the owner, is moving back to the North.”

“Who’s going to need his tattoos in the middle of snowy nowhere? You cannot show them off if you have to keep three layers of clothes on even in the summer.”

“Our summers are actually pretty... You know what, never mind.”

“Can we persuade him to stay, temporarily at least? What’s not to like here in King’s Landing?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but I don’t think he was very fond of you setting the Propriety League of the Seven on them, or writing that think-of-the-children article in the Daily Landing, or making a mad fire priestess preach on the steps of their shop.”

“That last one was particularly inspired,” Cersei said with a smug smirk. “Not that I had anything to do with it, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But the others aren’t going anywhere, are they? Can’t they keep the place going? They won’t find a property like that easily again.”

“They’d like to stay, but they don’t have the money to buy it out.”

“Daddy won’t help?” Cersei asked snidely.

“Jon would never ask that of Father.” Jon was adamant about carving his own place in the world and besides, he still had a whole host of issues about his place in the family. While Ned Stark raised him as his own child, Jon was actually the son of his sister, Aunt Lyanna who had died before Sansa was even born.

“Can’t they take a loan from the Iron Bank then?” Cersei harrumphed.

“They don’t kneel before the establishment.” Sansa kept herself from rolling her eyes. Mocking Jon’s crowd with Cersei would be disloyal, however much they sometimes deserved it.

“They’re selling their shop to one of the biggest corporations both sides of the Narrow Sea!”

“Yeah, well.” Sansa made a face. “I’ll bring up the loan idea to him, though.”

“See that you do.” With that, Cersei got up, smoothed out invisible wrinkles on the black dress that, Sansa had to admit, accentuated all the right places, and strutted regally to the door. There, she turned around. “I expect results, girl. After all, your little bakery won’t stand a chance against such neighbors, even if _Lion’s Share_ with its superior artisan coffee would survive.”

Sansa was tempted to say that it was actually the other way around, and Cersei’s coffee was shit anyway, but getting into arguments with the woman was like arguing with the Wall back at home. No chance of getting your way through 700 feet of pure ego.

Sighing, Sansa finally closed the bakery and went across the street to see Jon. This wasn’t going to be easy for anyone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jon's commitment to his job is strong, but the power of love is stronger, and Cersei experiences some setbacks with the whole "working together" idea

“She’s my queen,” Jon said dreamily, outlining three cartoon dogs on the upper arm of some very big and mean-looking guy.

“Yes, you’ve said that already. Repeatedly.” Sansa waved her hand in irritation. “I want to know how your meeting with the Iron Bank went. You know, the reason you actually went to Braavos.”

Jon’s expression turned sheepish.

“Jon?” Sansa felt cold suspicion settle in her stomach.

Now he had his guilty puppy look. Oh, that was bad. He had to be desperate since he knew those big sad eyes had never worked on her.

“Well, I was just going to the bank, my best suit on and your pitch speech memorized.”

And what a fantastic pitch it was. Would have made even Tywin Lannister, notorious cutthroat businessman, burst in tears and hand them the money. But Sansa sensed a ‘but’ here.

“But?”

“But then I saw _her_. Daenerys. Well, I didn’t know her name at first, but I knew there and then that she’s the _one_. And if I hadn’t followed her in that ancient city of freedom, I would have lost her forever.” Jon broke into a starry-eyed smile.

Sansa was speechless for a moment. She would have thought for sure he was bullshitting her and in reality he’d just got too drunk with his buddies in some Braavosi pub the day before and missed the meeting, because this level of excuses was on par with him telling the teacher that Ghost, their dog, ate his homework back in the 6th grade, but knowing Jon, he was dead serious.

“How disgustingly romantic,” she said after she found her voice again. “So, if you were away chasing skirts instead of doing your duty, does that mean that Sam was the one who talked to the bank?” Sam was the cleverest and most level-headed of all Jon’s friends. He probably went into a half-hour nerdy lecture on the history of body art in Westeros, but all in all, it couldn’t have been too bad.

“Uhm… not exactly,” Jon mumbled. “You see, Sam wanted to see that one temple so badly, you know how he is, and we aren’t too big historical sightseeing, so we just told him to go there while we’re at the bank. It’s not like he works here at the shop, he went with us just for moral support anyway.” His voice turned defensive.

“So who exactly was at the meeting?” Sansa asked slowly, although she already knew the answer. After all, there were only three people on that trip. “Did anyone even get there in the end?” Maybe they could still reschedule.

“Of course! Tormund did a great job!”

Sansa groaned.

“He was even sober! Well, mostly.”

The man under Jon’s hand twitched. Jon looked at him as if seeing for the first time.

“We at _Hardhome_ pride ourselves on the quality of our services, and our employees are always one hundred percent sober while at the job,” he intoned. “I enforce this rule myself.” And he did, to everybody’s indignation at first, because before, their boss couldn’t care less about the little things like making the artists stay lucid enough to tell one body part from another.

The man just grunted in response.

“Were there any bear tales involved?” Sansa narrowed her eyes.

“No, nothing like that!”

“How do you know that if you weren’t there?”

“I asked him that! I’m not completely clueless, you know. And Tormund is a shit liar.”

Sansa felt herself relax a little bit.

“There mi-ight have been that story about a giant…”

She threw her arms in the air.

“But even you have to admit, it’s a really funny one.”

“So what did they say at the Bank?” Calm. She had to stay calm.

“They’ll contact us. But Tormund was really optimistic,” Jon said brightly.

“I just bet. What am I going to tell Cersei?”

“Who cares? I thought you hated her.” Jon looked at Sansa strangely.

“I do. But we have a truce for now, you know, to stop _NightKing’s_ and prevent you from losing your job.”

Jon gave Sansa an unexpectedly shrewd look. “You’ve always cared too much about Cersei’s opinion. Even when you fancied yourself in love with that little twerp Joffrey, you always wanted to impress his mother first, and him second.”

“You have some strange ideas in that pretty little head of yours, brother dear.” Sansa bristled.

“If you say so.”

* * *

After leaving Jon to finish the ink, Sansa spent the next few excruciatingly long hours arguing with her flour supplier from Reach who wanted to raise prices yet again this year and then filing her monthly tax returns. Before opening _Hot Pie_ , she had never realized just how much paperwork and tedious negotiations went into running a single small bakery.

Upon her return, she was relieved to see that Arya hadn’t messed up anything in her absence – baking was not her little sister’s forte, so much so that she wasn’t allowed to set her foot anywhere near the oven – and frustrated that Littlefinger was skulking around again.

“What’s with the long face, darling? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

At the counter behind Baelish, Arya pointed at his back and mimed slitting her throat.

“Well, you should, because I’ve just heard some very troubling news that might interest you.”

“What kind of news?”

“At first I said to myself that it’s not any of my business. However, I just can’t in good faith leave you in the dark, my dear Sansa, especially since I know how much you love and support your brother.”

“Get to the point, Baelish.”

“There was an anonymous complaint to the Public Health Service about a rat infestation in _Hardhome_ , and tomorrow there’s going to be a surprise inspection first thing in the morning.”

“But there’s no infestation there. Jon is very particular about health and safety and keeping equipment sterile.” Because Mance himself didn’t give a damn about those either.

“There may be no infestation today, but who knows what they will find tomorrow.”

Littlefinger waited for the meaning of his words to sink in and left with a smirk and a mocking half-bow.

The sisters exchanged looks.

“This is going to be a long night,” Sansa said at last.

“Do you seriously believe him?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“I’m taking Dad’s basketball bat.”

Sansa snorted. “That thing is too big even for him, no way you’ll… Wait, why do you even have it here in King’s Landing with you?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Sansa resolved to have a long-overdue talk with Arya about her bloodthirsty impulses sometime. Or better yet, have Jon do it.

* * *

“Have I told you about the she-bear yet?” Tormund beamed at Brienne and stroked his ginger beard.

Everybody groaned. Jon snickered, looking at his friend indulgently.

“No, Tormund, not that one. Please, no.”

“You’re no fun, Sansa.” Tormund pouted.

“She’s interested in someone else,” Arya muttered to him. Operation Get J&B Together had been going swimmingly since Jaime had transferred to work with Brienne’s department a week ago, and she’d been gushing about his “hidden depths” and “unexpected moral character” ever since. This situation could very well turn to be a setback, though.

“Tough luck.” Tormund looked dejected for a moment but then brightened again. “Did you know that in the North, real North, not where you three posers are from…”

Looking out of the window, Brienne shushed him with her hand. “Silence! Someone’s coming!”

Jon turned off a dim lamp on his workstation – the only source of light they had on – and motioned everybody to move away from the glass.

King’s Landing never slept, and even at 2 a.m., the streets were far from quiet. Faint bassline carried over from _The Iron Throne_ , and some drunks were butchering _The Rains of Castamere_ down the street. A man in a black hoodie holding a big cloth-covered cage, however, was approaching the tattoo shop soundlessly. Once at the door, he put down the cage and fumbled in his pockets, producing a jackknife set.

On the other side of the door, Arya lifted her bat, almost knocking Sansa down, and Tormund jerked to move, only to be stopped by Jon.

“Let him come in,” he mouthed.

Some of the longest two minutes in Sansa’s life, as indicated by the clock that had never before had been ticking so loudly, the door opened, letting the intruder in. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, Jon snatched the cage out of his hands and Brienne closed the door with a loud bang.

Sansa flicked the switch, and the man squinted in panicked disorientation at the bright light suddenly pouring from the ceiling.

“Now can I hit him?” Arya asked.

“Nobody is hitting anybody. I’m arresting this man for breaking and entering, and we’ll find out all about his nefarious plan at the City Watch station.” Brienne snatched the cloth from the cage, revealing a dozen of squeaking rats inside.

The man gave a jolt, but Tormund promptly stepped behind him and twisted his arms behind his back. “Maybe you could say he resisted arrest?”

“Who are you, anyway?” Jon asked.

The man remained silent, his eyes shifty.

“That’s Qyburn, owner of the esoteric shop at the end of the street. Cersei keeps him around to have one more vote on the Business Owners Council and write bad reviews on her competitors,” Sansa said, clenching her hands into fists.

“Well, it looks like you’re in big trouble, Qyburn.” Brienne took out a pair of handcuffs.

Everyone went outside to follow Brienne leading the man to her car, but Sansa marched in the opposite direction.

“Hey, where are you going?” Arya called out.

“Confront the real mastermind.”

“The bitch is on my list now.”

“Stay out of it, sis. This is between her and me.”

* * *

Three minutes later, Sansa was standing in front of the bouncer of _The Iron Throne_ , the large man she recognized from Jon’s shop earlier this day.

“You!” She pointed her finger at him accusingly. The man said nothing, his expression blank. Sansa took a calming breath. “I need to see Cersei.”

The bouncer looked at her with the same dim expression on his face, but the cogs in his brain finally moved as he stepped aside, letting her in.

Inside, Sansa spent seemingly forever trying to elbow her way through the mass of writhing bodies, loud music making her head pound. Whoever decided to put _Jenny of Oldstones_ to that ear-bleeding beat should be fed to the dogs.

Some guy put his hand on her lower back. “Let me buy you a drink, lovely?”

“Fuck off!” Usually, jerks that got handsy with Sansa learned a painful lesson about the error of their ways, but right now she didn’t have time for that.

She finally located Cersei in the VIP zone, sitting on a throne-like chair with swords in the back in a fabulous dress with spiked epaulettes, long-stemmed glass in her hand. Looking completely unsurprised by Sansa’s appearance, she motioned her inside.

“Forgive me for saying this, but you look a little underdressed for a night out, my dear.” Cersei raked her eyes along the length of Sansa’s body, making her flush.

“I’m not here for a night out.” She refused to look down on her jeans and old T-shirt with a goofy wolf, maintaining eye contact with Cersei instead. “You know why I’m here.”

“Do I?” Cersei sipped her bright red drink.

“I think you do. That little _rat_ of yours, Qyburn, has been arrested breaking into _Hardhome_ with a cage full of filthy rodents just now.”

“Why do you think I had anything to do with this? I’m sure Qyburn will provide a sufficient explanation for why he committed such treachery.”

“Oh please, cut the crap, Cersei. We both know you sent him.”

Instead of a reply, Cersei sent a waitress to get Sansa a cocktail.

“I don’t want your cocktail.” Sansa waved her off. “Tell me why. I thought we had an agreement, which you yourself proposed.”

“I admit that Qyburn might have acted rashly, whatever his reasons were. Come to _Lion’s Share_ tomorrow and we might discuss some… mutually acceptable solutions to our current problem. Not too early, though.”

“You don’t seriously believe I’m setting foot into your place again after what’s happened? We’ll meet at a neutral ground.”

Cersei twisted her lips. “Fine. _D’Orne_ , 3 p.m.”

With a curt nod, Sansa stormed out of the club and headed to the flat over the bakery she shared with Arya. Unlike Cersei, who had rotating staff in both of her establishments, Sansa baked her own bread and pastries and pies herself, with the help of only one other boy, Arya’s former classmate. Which meant she had to open the kitchen in just a couple of hours. Oh well, sleeping was overrated anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All in all, this is turning out surprisingly canon-compliant for a fic I started to write to cheer myself up after season 8. Anyway, tell me what you think!


End file.
